I was alone.
Broken and fragile.
On my knees in the dust.
The smell of death consumed the air, smothering each breath I breathed.
My tears were the only rain, as I searched for quinching in my desert place.
With each beat of my heart, and each verbal punch, I felt the sting of pain.
The monster on my back grew larger, digging its claws in my thoughts.
I tried to gather the ashes, but they continued to fall fast, like a hard snow on my cold tongue.I dug in the rubble, finding pebbles to throw at the stained glass windows, shattering the distant memory of my hopes and dreams.
I was in the midst of my own burial ground.
My eyes clouded by the dust of my complaint and fury.
Formed by my own words.
With my own mouth.
With each word I whispered.
I had fed the wounds of my pain.
Creating my own destruction.
is in the power of the tongue.
Use your power for good.
Death and life are in the power of the tongue, and those who love it will eat its fruits.
The thief comes to steal, kill and destroy; I have come that you may have life and have it to the full.
Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, my strength and my redeemer.
He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire, he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.